


A Final Goodbye

by TheHeightsThatWuthered (JosieRuby1)



Category: Wuthering Heights - Emily Brontë
Genre: Death, Family, Grief, Loss, Love, edgar has feelings, isabella has feelings, linton mostly has anger, reconnected
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-12
Updated: 2017-08-12
Packaged: 2018-12-14 13:44:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11784378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JosieRuby1/pseuds/TheHeightsThatWuthered
Summary: It is only when his sister is dying that Edgar realises the mistake he has made in remaining so distant from her for so long. He gets there just in time to ask forgiveness.





	A Final Goodbye

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to @kirakiralina for putting up with me sending scenes to her as I was writing and for letting me rant at her when the writing wasn't going to plan. ly

The Lintons were not like the Earnshaws and Heathcliffs of the world. Drama for the likes of the Earnshaws and the Heathcliffs meant a blood bath for everyone around them. Drama for the likes of the Lintons meant silence.  Drama for the Lintons was passive aggressive comments or complete ignorance. Drama for the Lintons was making a large unnecessary ultimatum and then not having the humility to take it back. It was due to this that despite desperately missing Isabella, Edgar had not contacted her or visited her in the almost thirteen years since she had fled from Heathcliff. It was due to this that Edgar had not once set his eyes on his nephew who was now almost a teenager, all he knew was the lock of hair that Isabella had sent to Cathy as a comparison.

Isabella had taken the first step towards making amends. No, that wasn’t fair, it was more than that, Isabella had taken _every_ step towards making amends. It had been Edgar who was too stubborn, too proud to accept it. Yes, he had accepted the letters from her, grateful every time for the reassurance of her familiar handwriting and the knowledge that both her and Linton were well, or as well as the sickly little one could be. No, though, he had not helped her. It was well within his power to bring Isabella and Linton home to the Grange but stubborn pride prevented it. Isabella was kind, she was sweet, she had been innocent but that had been lost in her time with Heathcliff. Isabella expected nothing, she had been nothing but understanding of Edgar’s decision and she had said time and time again that she was grateful that he would even write to her. She made it easy for him to keep his distance. That’s what he told himself.

Fear tasted like bile in his throat as he took the carriage to where Isabella was living now. The road was bumpy and uncomfortable, despite the amount he had paid out for it. It was his first time leaving little Cathy without him for any period of time and he worried for that but he couldn’t deny that his worry was truly aimed forward. Dread came with the racing of a heart, the expectation of the worst news, that he would be too late. It was already too late, truly, Isabella was ill, she was dying, Edgar had no time left to make amends with his beloved sister. He only prayed that he would make it in time.

Edgar prayed the whole way there. His eyes remained open and he watched out of the carriage as the pink, green and brown moorlands turned eventually into cobbled roads and streets more built up. The moors were so vast and so lifeless a lot of the time that it was easy to forget that busy cities existed not too far away. He watched the landscape and repeated the prayer in his mind, “Lord, keep her alive until I reach her.”

\--

The sight of the young woman and the young boy laying together in the small bed was a sorry sight. The pair of them shared the same thin blonde hair and tired eyes, half closed, the same pain was written over both bodies. The younger, Linton Heathcliff, had his head rested on the elder’s, Isabella Linton’s, chest as though he was checking on her breathing.

He was. The doctor had long since pronounced her dying and Linton had attached himself to her side since hearing this information. His Mother was all she had, he didn’t have a father and Uncle Edgar never visited. He had been the ill one, he had been the one not supposed to last long, not her. She was too loving, too kind, too gentle to be taken. Linton stayed close, determined to be there with her and for her at every moment.

He didn’t sleep, he slept a long normally, his body ached and stabbed and thumped in pain and sleep was often the only outlet he had for it. But he had not slept for almost a week now. Mother and son had switched place. She no longer forced herself awake to watch over him, now he did so for her. No longer did she fear that closing her eyes would mean losing him, instead he did.

Isabella slept, pain etched her every feature, her movements were weak and difficult to the point that she had given them up. She could hardly open her eyes for more than a few moments and a smile was beyond her now. She didn’t cry, she was peaceful with it or perhaps she would’ve been had she not looked so exhausted and agonised. Mostly she slept though, slept while Linton listened to her heart and sung the gentle lullabies she had sung to him when he was young. She said few words anymore, she had only one wish.

“If I am forgiven, Edgar will arrive before I leave.”

Linton knew what this meant. Edgar’s arrive would mean his Mother’s death. Selfishly he longed for his uncle to not arrive. If his uncle did not arrive, Isabella would continue to hold on and wait for him. She would remain alive. That was all Linton wanted. Twelve is no age to lose a mother. Twelve is no age to lose your world.

The door knocked regardless. The door knocked and both mother and son knew what this meant. Isabella’s eyes flew open and the ghost of a smile flitted across her mouth, her voice was more a breath of relief than anything else, “Edgar. Linton, darling, let him in.”

Linton stood slowly. He was still ill himself, he was still in pain, he was still oh so tired. The world spun as he did so and he longed to just lie back with her again. He could ignore the door, make the man leave, remain with his mother.

Another knock.

Linton had no choice. His love for his mother was stronger than his selfishness. He opened the door.

-

When the door opened, Edgar felt like he was looking at himself, himself from 20 or so years ago, himself with his fine health taken away, himself when he had lost both his parents in one summer. It was a not a pleasant sight. Edgar planted a smile on his face nonetheless.

“You must be Linton,” he said softly, extending a hand. “You certainly look like your Mum.” This was true enough, Linton like Edgar and Edgar and Isabella looked alike.

Linton didn’t speak, he simply leaned against the door as though he would fall without it and stepped aside to let Edgar in. Edgar did so, looking around uncertainly. Linton took a moment to close the door and gather his strength before leading Edgar through to Isabella’s bedroom.

“Edgar,” Isabella was halfway between laying and sitting and looking as though she had lost the strength to do anything more at that point. “Edgar, my dear brother, you came.” She smiled, a new lease of life that would not hold took her as she gazed at her brother. “Linton, give me and your uncle a moment, please, we have a lot to catch up on.”

Linton hesitated before leaving the room and closing the door behind him.

Edgar moved and sat on the edge of Isabella’s bed beside her. He smiled himself but it didn’t hold the radiant happiness that Isabella’s smile held. Instead it was tinged with guilt and worry and grief. He leaned forward and kissed Isabella on the forehead before gentle, carefully moving her back to lie down comfortably. The pair seemed lost for words for a long moment, blue eyes gazing at each other, taking in the physical changes of 13 years without contact.

“I’m sorry.”

The words came as a tumble out of both mouths. A soft breath from Isabella and a desperate plea from Edgar. Both laughed and it was a weak sound from both. Isabella through lack of strength, Edgar by how unfunny the situation was.

He took one of Isabella’s hands in both of his. They were small and cold and weak but she tried with all her might to hold his, to squeeze him.

“Don’t apologise, Izzy,” He said, softly. The shortened version of her name was rare for anyone to use. Edgar only used it in the most heightened of emotional states. This was definitely that. “I’m the sorry one. I am the one who left you to fend for yourself. A mother alone, no support. Isabella, I have been a dreadful brother, hardly worthy of that title. You deserved better, you deserve better.”

Edgar had never been one to be ashamed of his weaknesses and when the tears pricked his eyes and fell quickly now, he still was not ashamed of them. They fell freely and Edgar let go of Isabella’s hand to rest his head on her shoulder and sob into it.

“Could you ever forgive me?” He asked, “Could you ever? My dear sister, I am sorry. I am so sorry.”

Isabella was slow but she moved her hand to Edgar’s hair, stroking it gently, much as she would for Linton. “Edgar, my dear, there is nothing to forgive, nothing at all. You know how dear you are too me, you know my love for you. Don’t think on it. You are here, that is all that matters.”

“My love for you never wavered,” Edgar promised her, moving to look at her once more. It was clear the speech she had given had taken all of her remaining strength. Her hand was limp at his hair now and her eyes were half closed, her breathing was laboured, every breath a struggle now.

“Thank you,” She said, her lips barely moving, the words barely audible.

Edgar felt her stop. He was not listening to her heart as Linton had been but he felt the stop in her. He felt that it no longer beat, that she no longer breathed. He was still for the briefest of moments before all but collapsing on top of her as he cried. He did not want to leave or move. He had been away so long, he had left it too late. She had forgiven him but he was uncertain that he deserved it.

\--

Linton didn’t need to hear the words when Edgar came out of the bedroom and found him curled up in the living room. This was good because Edgar could not find the words. The tears on his face, the pain in his expression was enough. Linton did not cry, Linton couldn’t weep for the mother he had loved and cared for and missed the death of. Instead Linton was angry, angry that this man who had left her alone for all these years got to be the last one to see her, angry that she had been taken from him.

Linton didn’t cry as Edgar made the arrangement, he didn’t cry as Edgar packed his things. He didn’t cry as Isabella’s body was taken away, he didn’t cry when he was told they were leaving for Thrushcross Grange after the funeral. He spoke somewhat to Edgar but mostly he lost himself in himself.

He did cry at the funeral. At that point, he allowed Edgar to take his hand and support him. He allowed the tears to fall as Isabella’s favourite hymn was played. He allowed himself to curl up against Edgar within the carriage as they went north, to Yorkshire and to the home Isabella had longed to return to.


End file.
